


Sometimes I wonder, am I enough?

by OctobersLily510



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: 18 year old Peter, Bottom Peter Parker, Boys In Love, Dry Humping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Implied Anal Sex, Insecure Peter, Light Angst, Lingerie, Loving Tony Stark, M/M, Makeup, Mentioned Eating Disorders, No Underage Sex, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Top Tony Stark, Trigger Warning - Eating Disorders and unhealthy thoughts regarding eating/body weight, Valentine's Day Fluff, healthy communication (eventually)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 19:37:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18079658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctobersLily510/pseuds/OctobersLily510
Summary: He’d wanted it to be a surprise.But...not like this.***Peter has planned a surprise for Tony for Valentine's Day - but instead of a fun, sexy time, it leads to him having to face his insecurities head on. Luckily, he has Tony to help him with that.This was inspired by the Valentines Day Exchange last month...I'm just terrible at time managment and really late! Please heed the tags: while there is no graphic description of eating disorders (ie. Peter does not have one!) there is some unhealthy thoughts and (briefly) attitude towards food and exercise - if it is possible you could be triggered, please do not read or be cautious while doing so. If you are concered, please message any questions and I can tell you exactly what's involved. Otherwise, please enjoy this very late fluffy Valentine's Starker!





	Sometimes I wonder, am I enough?

**Author's Note:**

> I've recently joined this fandom and have loved many of the works - some amazing Starker out there so I thought I'd throw my poor attempt in the ring. Constructive criticism is welcome, but please be gentle! :-) 
> 
>  
> 
> Title from Hello My Love by Westlife
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no money from this.

It wasn’t a thing...until it was.

Peter had been so excited for this Valentine’s Day, is the thing: it was his and Tony’s first proper one, one that they could spend together openly with everyone (re: Avengers) knowing they were a couple and not having to fight lizard-like aliens trying to infest Earth’s oceans and ultimately destroy the human race.

(Not that he has any problem counting last year...Tony and he did sneak away on the Quin-Jet for a hot and heavy make-out session in a quiet corner after the aliens had been dealt with, and Tony bought him flowers and took him out for a five-course meal at a seven star restaurant the next week. Tony, however, insists that they slummed it and he was not counting that “cheap excuse of a date night” as their first Valentine’s Day together.

Peter’s still too scared to ask what Tony would consider a ‘high-class’ date night.)

Anyway.

So, this will be their first ‘Official’ (capital and all) Valentine’s Day as a couple. Peter had been thinking about this since the second of January, after he and Tony had decided to ring in the New Year by being caught together in the kitchen (“Thanks for the warning, JARVIS.”) by Steve and Bucky. The rest of the team had swiftly found out, and they had dealt with 24 hours of explanations, re-assurances and surprisingly, whole-hearted and heart-warming support from the majority, although Tony’s remaining intact vital organs were threatened by a protective Natasha who had by this point adopted Peter as a brother/son/fellow spider mentee.

(“Well, he does need a new mentor now you’ve been upgraded to Sugar Daddy, Tony.”

“Clint!”)

Exactly thirty-two days of planning has brought him here - just less than 2 weeks before the day itself - taking advantage of the privacy he has been granted with May working the evening shift by looking himself up and down wearing the lingerie he’d ordered special: using the incognito setting on one of Apple’s older model’s he’d found during a dumpster dive he had partaken in for old time’s sake.

He’d wanted it to be a surprise.

But...not like this.

He’d swiped a copy of his suit measurements from Tony’s lab, and had sent the specifications to the company over email: the red and gold (obviously) leather corset and silk robe set with fishnet garters and stockings, trimmed with lace and ribbon, (with matching panties) should have fit him like a glove.

And they did...snugly.

A little too snug.

Peter bit his lip as he turned to his side and then back, looking over his shoulder. He tried the other side, but despite his hope, the results didn’t change: the faux leather wasn’t tied tight at all yet his stomach and upper arms seemed to bulge out - his legs looked thick and outright stupid straining in the delicate stockings, and the panties (which he’d imagined would make him look sexy: enough to drive Tony crazy) rucked up his ass, making his cock flop very unsexily to the side.

He looked, for extreme lack of a better comparison, like a child playing in his mother’s clothes.

He was trying hard not to think about that too closely.

He was just so...disappointed? He’d been hoping to surprise Tony, light candles and scatter rose petals and all that stuff. As much as Tony reassured him, he couldn’t help but pick apart the differences between them: Peter couldn’t afford to take Tony for a five course meal, or buy a huge bouquet of flowers and chocolates (the shops all increased the prices for Valentine’s Day in a blatant display of capitalism, MJ had ranted to him unhelpfully over text the other day.) He was cute in a pretty-boy way, while Tony had been voted ‘New York’s Sexiest Bachelor’ in an online poll for nine years in a row.

So he’d planned what he had hoped would be a special evening for the two of them: a home-cooked meal in the Tower (he had warned everyone away, even going so far as blackmailing Steve with a copy of his oh-so-helpful PSA videos Spidey had ‘borrowed’ from school when the super soldier had mentioned he’d also wanted to surprise Bucky with a meal) followed by a romantic movie (which basically means a few good sex scenes to get them in the mood) before finally ending up in the bedroom where he could show Tony how much he meant to him, and how much he wanted to make him happy, with candles, rose petals…

And a striptease.

Ending with Peter in lingerie.

It was a foolproof plan!

Well, it would have been: if he hadn’t gained weight.

He’d be the first to admit that he had thoroughly enjoyed the Thanksgiving/Christmas and New Year celebrations in all their delicious glory - who didn’t? And who cared if he had an extra slice (or three) of pie and third (or fifth) helpings of turkey: his mutated metabolism and regular patrols usually meant that his tendency to eat more than the average 18 year old boy was expected: even encouraged, and rarely had any impact.

Clearly, that was no longer the case.

Taking a final look at himself before shaking his head in disgust, and trying to ignore the bitter tears in his eyes at his failure to just be enough for Tony, for once, he tore off the cheap lingerie (because that’s all it was, all he could afford even though he’d used almost all his Christmas money) and ran down in his pyjamas to shove it all at the bottom of a dumpster across the street, wanting to forget he’d ever bought it in the first place.

It’s fine, he told himself as he headed back up. He has time, he can figure something else out for Tony’s Valentine’s Day surprise. No one saw the lingerie, he can pretend it never happened.

It’s fine.

***  
Of course it wasn’t fine.

Peter had never really been self-conscious or particularly concerned about his appearance before: too busy scrounging for tech to upgrade his computer or saving money to buy new Lego sets for him and Ned to geek out over. Even when he started dating Tony, caring about his appearance or weight hadn’t really registered: the few times he’d made a comment or compared the two of them, Tony had been quick to pull him into a kiss (or back to bed) and tell him in no uncertain terms how beautiful he was.

“I still can’t believe how lucky I am to get to have you, sweetheart.”

But now?

Now he was remembering all the times Tony had bought him new clothes or a suit for an event, telling him that he loved to spoil him: he saw it all in a new light, wondering if that had been a polite way to make him presentable to be seen in public with the Tony Stark: genius, billionaire, philanthropist...and playboy.

He knew it was stupid, he knew it would hurt, but he did it anyway.

He waited until Tony had gone to LA for three days for a series of meetings about a company merger that Pepper had told (ie. threatened) him that he had to personally attend. He’d wanted to bring Peter with him, promising a presidential suite with a king-sized bed as incentive.

“We won’t be able to spend a lot of time together, but it would make the meetings so much better knowing you’d be waiting for me at the end of them.” He’d wheedled that night, the two of them still panting from their bout of intense sex brought on by news of Tony’s trip. “You could have a nice holiday out of it: relax by the pool, have a lie in...order all the room service you want?”

Ignoring the twinge those words brought on, and the reminder that he was currently naked right now and oh god, what if Tony saw his new body shape, Peter rolled over and started planting kisses down Tony’s neck. “Maybe next time.” He promised, making his way down and soaking up the curses and praise Tony started biting out as he reached his intended target.

Distraction, thy name is Peter Parker.

Peter has access to all floors of the Tower, labs included, which is where he finds himself the day after Tony’s departure with the intention of working on upgrading his web-shooters.

What actually happens?

He starts looking up Tony’s exes.

Pepper is the first one, of course, and he flicks through pictures of her and Tony at gala events, conventions, conferences and meetings...even getting out of the car. In every photo she is poised, elegant, and put together in a way that just screams ‘sophisticated.’

It all goes downhill from there.

Before Pepper, there were the actresses, models, scientists and sports stars. Tony is pictured with them all in various locations and events, looking drop-dead gorgeous on his arm, effortlessly done up and graceful even in the photos. Their bodies are perfect, hair and make-up stunning, and they suit him. Every one of them looks like they belong at his side: dripping in expensive diamonds and designer dresses or suits, confident and sexy in every pose.

How can Peter compare?

It devolves to Peter looking up the women and men themselves, finding thousands upon thousands of photos of them in various stages of undress...because of course Tony has dated lingerie models, and bikini models, and swim-wear models, and sports-wear models. Peter keeps flicking through until his eyes have blurred with tears, streaming down his cheeks and onto his (old, ratty, baggy, hideous hideous hideous) hoodie.

Tony can have anyone, anyone is this entire world.

So what the hell is he doing with him?

When Tony calls him later that night to catch up and casually asks if he’s joining the team for dinner, Peter lies and cheerfully tells him he already ordered in Thai.

The lie doesn’t burn nearly as much as the pictures do.

***

It’s not bad, but it’s not good either.

Peter isn’t stupid, and certainly not selfish: as much as the image of himself in the lingerie is burned in his mind, alongside Tony’s old ‘companions’, he knows in his head that stopping eating is not a quick fix or a healthy coping mechanism. Plus, he refuses to cause Aunt May any more worry while she’s just beginning to get her head round the Spider-Man stuff.

So he doesn’t stop...just, cuts back?

It’s not noticeable, and in fact, not even that worrisome: he still eats three meals a day, even has snacks when he feels like it. But instead of ordering in Thai and grabbing chocolate bars or gummy bears, he has canned soup and carrot sticks. He tells the team and May he’s trying to make sure he gets all his vitamins cause he wants to increase his training regime, and counts himself lucky that Natasha and Bruce have been called away on a mission and Steve and Bucky have gone to visit Wakanda before they notice the not-at-all-adequate-for-mutated-humans portion sizes.

It’s not that the others don’t care: they just don’t know what he should be eating.

He starts weight-lifting more (by this he means sneaking into the junkyards at night to lift 2 tonne scraps of metal) and doing crunches like they’re going out of fashion. He doesn’t necessary want to lose weight; this isn’t about that.

He just wants to look like he belongs with Tony.

He wants to have pictures of him and Tony and for people to see that he’s not just some kid from Queens getting charity from Tony Stark, that he’s good for Tony, that he’s right for Tony, that he makes Tony happy. He wants to be sophisticated and elegant and able to wear lingerie (for Tony, not a photoshoot) and look sexy while doing so.

Which is why he doesn’t tell Tony.

He doesn’t like keeping secrets or lying, especially when it comes to those he cares about, and particularly when it comes to Tony Stark. But he knows how Tony will react: he knows that he will think that he himself is not enough for Peter, for not doing enough for him and that he is at fault for “leading him” into a relationship with a man over twice his age that has had more dates than a diary and three sex tapes floating around the Internet. He will blame himself.

And Peter can’t deal with that.

He wants to give his partner an amazing Valentine’s Day, because honestly? Tony makes Peter feel like a goddamn Prince every day of his life, and just once he wants Tony to feel the same way, to know that Peter would do anything and everything for him, despite his youth and limited means and clumsiness and complete lack of seduction skills.

Unfortunately, his past-self did not anticipate this.

When before he would have had no problem stripping off in front of Tony, either to change into his suit, take a shower or attempt to get him out of the lab and into bed (with a 99.4% success rate, he thinks smugly) now he find excuses to keep himself covered, not wanting Tony to see him until he has managed to lose a little excess weight.

Which then automatically leads into a decrease in their sex life. As in: no sex.

Tony is less than pleased.

“Baby, please, I’ve barely seen you all week.” He groans into the younger boy’s neck in the lab on Friday morning, less than a week before Valentine’s Day (or D-Day, as in disaster, in Peter’s mind). Peter has purposely kept his baggy jumper on, which is not causing as much of a barrier as he had hoped, considering Tony’s hands have travelled up and are now roaming the sensitive skin of his stomach and waist. “Tony…” He moans as the man’s lips travel up his neck to his ear, giving kitten licks to the lobe. “Come on, I have to go soon.”

“Exactly.” Peter gasps as Tony replaces his tongue with his teeth and nips. “So we’ll be quick. C’mon sweetheart, won’t take me long.” And Peter can feel that, he can, against his lower back, dangerously close to his ass.

But.

A flash of him in the mirror, looking frumpy and stupid in red and gold douses his arousal like cold water, and he stiffens. Only for a moment, but Tony notices. Because of course he does.  
“Baby, something wrong?” His hold loosens, and Peter bites back a whimper at the concern in his voice. He wants to keep feeling his touch, keep feeling desired.

He turns around in Tony’s embrace, pulling him into a kiss that’s more tongue and teeth than careful or chaste. “Nothing.” He lies against his lips, brain thinking furiously for an explanation: “just…think we should wait a bit, is all.”

Despite his worry and guilt, Peter has to bite back a laugh as Tony screws up his face: reminiscent of the time he took a bite out of Aunt May’s date and walnut loaf. “Wait? For what?”

Good question.

“For, um…for Valentine’s Day…I have…plans?”

Now why the hell did he have to go and say that!?

He internally questions his entire collection of life choices (including his application to MIT cause isn’t he supposed to be a genius?) as Tony’s face smooths out, and he smirks wickedly: eyes dancing with curiosity and barely-contained desire. “Plans?” He moves his hands once again to Peter’s body, this time just to pull him forward. “What kind of plans?” He honest to God purrs.

Peter is trying to convince his dick not to get involved right now: its only half working.

“Um, surprise plans?”

Tony chuckles, his eyes softening to fondness as he presses a gentle kiss to Peter’s lips. “Baby.” He coos, and Peter can’t help but blush at the intensity of his gaze. “You didn’t have to plan anything for me.”

And isn’t that just typical – Tony is just prepared to give and give and give, and never expects anything in return.

Peter feels crappy.

“I just, you do so much for me…” He mumbles, dropping his gaze to the bump of the arc reactor glowing faintly through Tony’s grey T-shirt. You do so much for me and I’m not smart enough for you, not pretty enough for you, not sexy enough for you…

“Peter.” Tony’s voice is soft, as is the hand that tilts his head up for another quick kiss. “Thank you: I’ll love whatever you have planned.”

Oh boy.

So, he has successfully dodged that bullet: only to end up facing a firing squad. Great.

Nice one, Parker.

He spends the next few days avoiding the Avengers Compound, Stark Tower and even his own apartment: wherever Tony is not. He claims to Tony he’s busy with May cause this this of year is always hard on her: he claims to May (who is spending time with her friends and is in actual fact feeling much better than previous years) that he is spending time doing extra training with the Avengers to make sure he is equipped to handle almost anything while out on patrol. He tells Steve he’s spending time with Nat, he tells Nat he’s spending time with Vision and Wanda, he tells Bucky and Sam he’s visiting Clint and Laura (little Pietro follows him around like he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread and It. Is. Adorable).

And he tells himself to skip one more meal, lift one more car, run up the stairs one more time…and maybe he can still do a striptease for Tony on Valentine’s without looking like a fool, especially if he never wears lingerie again. Tony tries calling him a few times, wanting to go to dinner or for clues as to his Valentines surprise - but Peter lets his phone run out of battery and conveniently forgets to charge it.

He honestly doesn’t know what he was thinking.

How he ever thought he could get away with telling so many lies to so many of the world’s finest superheroes and spies is beyond him: in the back corner of his mind, he makes a mental note to call MIT and cancel his application.

That’s assuming he makes it out of this.

The scene is quite simple: himself in the Tower’s gym, having just finished an intense workout session after an almost non-existent breakfast. He is aware his gym clothes look baggy on him, especially as they were loose-fitting to begin with, that he is paler than normal, and possibly his hair isn’t as soft as it used to be.

Doesn’t matter, considering Natasha looks ready to kill him.

“What the hell did he say to you?”

OK, maybe not him. Shit.

“Who said what?” He is not above playing dumb – not that it’s going to get him anywhere. 

As expected, Natasha just looks at him and crosses her arms – she’s in her ‘normal’ clothes: soft looking jeans and a dark green T-shirt that goes well with her hair, but Peter swears he sees her fingers twitch, and knows she’s minutes away from pulling out a knife and going Stark hunting.

“What the hell did Tony say to make you think you need to skip meals, pauchok?” He winces at the pet name: she’s pissed.

“He didn’t say anything, this is all me, Nat, I swear!”

She says nothing and raises her eyebrow, and Peter realises she probably knew that already: she just wanted him to admit it.

Damn, she’s good.

He sighs, shoulders slumping in defeat. It wouldn’t make a difference anyway: he could have the perfect body shape, and it still wouldn’t mean he could compete with Pepper and Melody and Evan and all the others.

“It’s so stupid…I just wanted to be good enough for him, Nat: for once, I wanted to feel like I deserved him.” His voice sounds small even to his ears, and he winces when he sees the concerned look on Natasha’s features. But she says nothing, and Peter starts rambling, the relief of finally saying it out loud loosening his tongue. “I just…I want to plan something special for Valentines, so I bought…you know, lingerie-stuff…but then I realised I couldn’t wear it cause I’d gained weight and Tony’s so amazing he’d never say anything but I’ve seen who he’s dated and how can I compare, Nat? I can’t model or dance or run a company: I can’t even dress up for him without looking like a stupid kid and I just want to be good enough!”

It all bursts out of him in mad rant, and he’s humiliated to feel his eyes filling with tears. How could Tony ever see him as an equal? How could the Avengers think he was worthy to be one of them when he can’t even please his own partner?

He frantically wipes at his eyes and stinging cheeks, waiting for Nat to undoubtedly read him the riot act.

“I’m sorry, but what the fuck?”

Fuck.

That’s not Nat’s voice.

Peter’s head snaps up in horror as he looks up at the door to see Tony standing there, looking crushed.

Fuck.

“Well, that was easy: I’ll be in Bruce’s lab if you need me.” Nat ruffles his hair before skirting around Tony in one graceful move, leaving the two in silence.

It’s a testament of how effected Tony is that he doesn’t make a comment about Nat’s intended whereabouts.

Peter glances at the window, contemplating just throwing himself out of it and swinging away as fast as his webs will let him.

“Don’t you dare.” Tony growls, and Peter barely has time to apologise before Tony crosses the room and yanks him into a kiss.

And what a kiss.

It’s desperate and wet and rough and needy...It’s all Peter can do to try and kiss back and gasp in a sliver of oxygen: coherent thought is but a dream. Tony’s tongue claims every inch of Peter’s mouth, his hands travel around his hips and up his back and tug in his hair, and he lets out a growl at Peter’s whimper.

After a week of avoiding physical contact as much as possible, it’s perfect.

And of course, that’s when it ends.

Peter is left gasping and panting, trying to make sense of what had just happened: he’d been ready to grovel to Nat for forgiveness, not fall on his knees to beg for Tony’s cock.

Not that he’s complaining, mind.

Tony’s just as affected: his chest is heaving, his jaw clenched and his eyes flame with desire and anger in equal measure.

He looks magnificent.

Peter opens his mouth to tell him that: to beg forgiveness for his lies and suggest they go to bed so he can begin to make up for it in a number of ways and positions.

“You got Natasha to interrogate me?”

Well...that was a close second.

The desire in Tony’s eyes fades slightly, as the anger grows stronger. “Seriously, that’s the best you can do? That’s what you choose to focus on right now?!”

“Well...yes?”

Seriously, Parker, you’re not getting into community college at this rate, he mentally groans to himself.

Tony’s face darkens again, and he stabs towards the door. “Upstairs, we need to talk.”

***

The walk to the elevators was painful, the ride up in the elevator unbearable, and the journey to the lab was excruciating.

Because Tony didn’t say. A. Damn. Thing.

Peter was waiting for the inevitable anger, the rant and eventually the guilt and sorrow...but there was nothing. Tony was stony-faced and silent the entire trip.

He stood in the lab and watched as Peter took a look round: realising with a flush of shame that his recent search history which JARVIS has assured him he had erased was covering the lab in various screens: in all their damning glory.

Pictures of Tony and Pepper, pictures of Pepper and Happy, pictures of the various Melody’s and Chantal’s and John’s that had come before. In the middle was a recording of the lab’s security footage: Peter watched himself looking at these same pictures with a strange sense of Inception-like déjà vu. He looked away when the Peter on the screen swiped his hand and closed all the pictures, before grabbing a piece of scrap metal and throwing it against the wall, making a dent the size of his head, before falling to his knees and letting out a few silent sobs, his face in his hands.

He remembered that: that dent had been a bitch to fix.

He sighed, defeated. “I’m sorry: I know I should have spoken to you.”

He jumped as he felt Tony’s arms wrap around his waist, the older man’s face nuzzling into his neck, and he left out a small moan as soft lips and course facial hair grazed the skin of his neck.

“You can now: what’s wrong, baby? How can I fix it?”

He tucked his head into the side of Tony’s. “You can’t...it’s me.” He whimpered.

And then it all came out: his fears and insecurities, his anger at himself and his worthlessness, how his failed attempt at lingerie shopping had led him to skipping meals and trying to be better for Tony...always for Tony.

He was crying again by the end: small tears creating tracks down his cheeks and onto the skin of Tony’s: he didn’t move, even as he felt the older man shift to kiss away every one. That only made him cry harder at the impossibly tender presses of his lips against his skin.

Finally though, he took a breath, raising his eyes to meet Tony’s as the man made his way to face him: pulling him into a tight hug as soon as he did.  
“If you think for one second you need to be fixed, you are nowhere near as smart as I give you credit for.” He whispered into the younger man’s ear, before pulling away and turning him towards the collection of photographs still on display.

“I’m not with any of these people anymore: do you know why?” 

Peter shrugs, eyes downcast: how in the world should he know? Any one of these women or men are ten times more suited to Tony that he’d ever be.

“Because none of them are you.”

Peter’s head snapped up, looking up at Tony’s gaze: eyes dark and intense. “What...what are you...how?..”

“No one, not these women or men, not the boys and girls from my MIT days, not the other Avengers, not even Pepper or Rhodey, understand me like you do.” Tony swore, his arm tightening around the younger man’s waist as he waved his hand and the pictures disappeared.

“I’m ‘Tony Stark’,” Peter can hear the quotation marks in his voice; “...and for my entire life, no one has cared to get to know me: the real me. All they care about is the image, my reputation, my bank account, my designs and ideas...”

He trailed off with a heavy sigh, pressing a small kiss to Peter’s knuckles. “Only Pepper got close to seeing the real me, and even then, she didn’t like the Iron Man side, my need to use him for good, to make up for the weapons I unleashed into this world: she didn’t understand that that’s my responsibility, my...passion, to fix things. Whether they’ve been done by me or others.” 

The man paused and took a deep breath, and Peter nuzzled into his neck: seeking and giving comfort in equal measure. It’s the most difficult thing in the world, to bare yourself: to make yourself vulnerable to the people or person you love the most.

It’s also the most necessary.

“Only you have ever understood that: have shared that. You’ve seen every side, every part of me: and you’ve loved them all. You can’t understand what a gift that is, after decades of loneliness and failed relationships. To think I haven’t done the same for you...it’s heart-breaking.”

“Don’t.” Peter mumbled into his shoulder, feeling the tears prick in his eyes in response to the devastation in Tony’s voice. “You’ve been the greatest thing in my life: you treat me like a Prince every time we’re together, and I just wanted to be able to give you something back...”

“Peter.” Tony pulled back and met his eyes: deep and dark with the intense truth of his every word: “...that’s my point: you give me everything I’ve ever needed, everyday: you complete me, you saved me...if I make you feel like a Prince, then you make me feel like a God.” 

Peter is stunned.

How does one answer that?

“Let me show you.” Tony murmurs, catching the look of wonder on his face and a flicker of smug satisfaction passes through his features. He starts tugging Peter gently out of the lab and towards the bedroom.

“Tony...” 

If Peter was stunned before, now he’s just...frozen.

Tony’s filled the bedroom floor to ceiling with lit candles, different sizes and colours, but no scents. There are flower petals scattered everywhere except the bed: red and yellow and blue. Hershey’s Chocolate Kisses are scattered in between them, the lights are dimmed and the candles cast a golden glow across the entire room. Sensual background music - the kind with no lyrics - plays softly from the surround sound system. Champagne is chilling on the bedside table, along with more chocolate, various sweets and fruits.

And in the middle of the bed lies a large gold box, proudly displaying the brand of the most expensive lingerie company in America.

It’s everything Peter wanted to give him: right down to the lingerie.

That’s what brings Peter back to Earth.

Which, rude: he’d been sporting a semi before that.

He eyes the box with no small amount of trepidation and even a bit of fear: he knows Tony can tell by the way he tenses - he can feel his shoulders curling in, how he’s automatically sucking in his stomach and trying hard not to remember the image of himself in the mirror.

It’s not working: he can’t wear anything like that again, he can’t.

“Baby…Pete, look at me.” 

Tony’s voice breaks through his spiral, and he turns to the man beside him. He looks concerned, brows furrowed and eyes gentle. Peter wishes he could reassure him that he absolutely loves the room set up: it’s perfect - but the box glitters menacingly in the candlelight.

Oh, if Toomes could see him now. 

Spider-Man scared of Lingerie: Jameson would think Christmas had come early. 

“Sweetheart, do you trust me?” 

And that...well.

How can he say no to that?

“Of course.” He assures him: because he does, completely and truly. He loves and trusts Tony, more than anyone. He’d take a bullet for him.

Getting handed the lingerie box feels a bit like that right now, if he was being perfectly honest with himself.

“Then put this on.” The older man nods towards the bathroom. “You don’t need to show me, you don’t have to do anything: just put it on for yourself. I promise, if you come out here and tell me that you never want to see lingerie again for the rest of your life, we can spend the rest of the evening cuddling and bankrupting lingerie companies.” His lips lifted in a smirk, his eyes dancing with mischief and gentleness. 

It’s that which spurs Peter to take the box and disappear into the bathroom: that complete and utter devotion to his needs, his feelings.

Tony said to trust him, so he does. It’s that simple. 

His breath catches at the sight of the outfit when he opens the box: 

It’s expensive, he could tell by just the brand and the box, and in this case, he is definitely getting what was paid for. 

The outfit is black, edged with gold. The corset is a shiny, supple black leather that feels more like silk, threaded through with soft gold ribbon. The panties are more like shorts but are made of fine lace. The garter belt and stockings are the same, the lace worked into gorgeous patterns: it’s soft and cool against his skin: falling around him like water. There’s a gold silk robe too; impossibly soft, and cover him from shoulders to thighs. It’s designed to tease: to tantalise.

He looks down at himself, still too scared to look in the mirror properly, and can already tell that is fits better: it feels better, than the cheap stuff he’d bought himself.  
He steals himself: before turning to look in the full length mirror.

And stops.

The black looks amazing against his pale complexion, the gold bringing out the pink of his lips and amber flecks of his eyes. It fits him like a second skin: there are no bulges or tight ridges, and the robe softens the muscles of his arms and chest, making him look graceful, softer...

Sexier.

He bites at his lip to stop the incredulous laughter he can feel in his chest. He almost doesn’t trust the mirror: this is a thousand times better than the first time he tried on lingerie.

He looks like the models that Tony used to go out with. 

He smooths his hands down the gold silk, thinking furiously. He wanted to give Tony an amazing Valentine’s Day: and he hasn’t, not when considering his mini freak-out, dumping all his insecurities on him while being surrounded by pictures of his exes.

But he could change that now.

Raking through the bathroom cabinets, he finds the small makeup bag MJ had gifted him with a smug smile when she caught him looking up lingerie during class a month ago.

There’s not much in it: mascara, dark eye shadow, red lipstick and gold nail varnish.

“Just enough to highlight your assets, Parker.” She’s winked, before heading off to lunch, leaving him blushing furiously at his desk. He’d hidden it here thinking that he’d never need it: the lingerie was nerve-wracking enough and that was before the whole disaster. 

Now, though, he makes a note to send her a massive thank you present (NOT flowers: he and Tony like his balls attached to his body, thanks) as he strokes the mascara and eyeshadow over his lids and lashes, then spends a good ten minutes gently painting his nails and toenails with Gold Medal Shine - it goes amazingly with the gold robe, and the red lipstick, when he finally manages to get it on with no smudges or gaps, adds the only splash of bright colour.

Yeah, this was more like it: this was what he had wanted to give Tony. 

But he feels powerful, he feels good: he feels sexy. 

This is as much for himself as it is for Tony.

With that thought in mind, he opens the bathroom door a crack. “Tony?”

“Yeah, baby?” 

“Can you close your eyes?”

“If that’s what you want, of course.”

Peter waits for a few minutes: he can hear Tony shuffling around, getting comfy on the bed. He here’s the tell-tale snick of buttons, and when he eventually works up the nerve to go back into the bedroom, he sees Tony has removed his shirt and undone his fly but left his jeans on. He’s sitting at the foot of the bed, one hand idly playing with a petal. 

As promised, his eyes are closed, but he tilts his head towards the door when he hears Peter enter. “Baby?”

“Just...keep your eyes closed for little longer.” He pleads, now that he’s here, he doesn’t know how he wants to play this - does he just stand here and tell Tony to open his eyes, does he try to pose like a model against the wall or cabinet, does he dance to the music?

In the end, he does what he always does when unsure or worried: he goes to Tony.

Thanking his flexibility and improved core strength, he puts one knee on the bed next to Tony’s thighs and swings up the opposite knee to the other side: he is essentially straddling Tony in this position, without actually touching him.

Tony soon rectifies that by catching him by the waist, humming in appreciation when he finds the leather corset. Peter puts his hands on the older man’s shoulders to keep himself steady.

“Feels good, baby.” Tony moans. “Can I open my eyes now? Want to see you.” 

The younger man giggles, reaching down to nibble at his ear lobe, careful not to smudge the lipstick. “Not yet.” He whispers, relishing the groan that he can feel through his own chest as he leaves the abused lobe and starts kitten-licking down the man’s neck, his hands roaming the muscles and scars of the exposed chest.

Peter loves every inch of Tony, inside and out: and he’ll make damn sure the man knows that.

“Peter, baby...please.” Tony moans as he starts thrusting down his groin into the cradle of Tony’s hips, moaning himself as he finally gets the friction he’s been wanting since he saw himself in the lingerie.

A bit full of himself, maybe, but who cares? 

Tony’s panting now: gasping as he tries to thrust his hips up to meet Peter’s, but the angle is wrong, and he can’t get much leverage without dislodging him.

“Baby...come on, come on...”

Peter’s moaning in earnest now: after long days and nights of avoiding Tony’s touch, just this is enough to spark in his blood. He can feel the heat coil low in his belly, and he gasps out as he picks up the pace of his hips: not even caring about how desperate he must look.

No one is here but Tony, and he still has his eyes closed.

“Yes, yes, yes...come on, baby, come on.” Tony’s egging him on, biting at his neck, scraping his goatee against the sensitive skin and gripping his hips tightly: he’s close too: Peter can feel it against his pelvis, the hardness and the desperate movement of his hips. With a burst of strength born from the growing desperation in his gut and arousal, Peter uses his upper body strength to push Tony back on to the bed.

“Ahhh! Yes yes yes!” They moan in tandem at the change in angle, and Peter knows he doesn’t have long. “You close?” He pants out, minutely adjusting himself so he can reach Tony’s chest with lips and teeth. 

“Yes, so close, come on baby, almost there.” Tony’s panting out, his movements now free and unrestrained with the new position.

And god bless him: his eyes are still closed. 

Peter puts on a burst of speed: he’s almost there...they both are...

“Open your eyes.” 

That’s all it takes.

Tony’s mahogany eyes burst open and bore into his: they skip down, taking in the make-up, the robe, the corset and the panties...

“Holy shit, holy fuck...baby..!”

That’s as far as he gets before his hips lose their rhythm, jerking sporadically with his orgasm. He crushes Peter’s mouth to his as he comes, devouring it with a single-minded intensity, and that’s all it takes for Peter to follow him over the edge.

The younger man collapses against him, gasping and panting, moving so he’s lying beside him rather than on top. Tony’s hands and eyes follow him: petting the robe, the corset, his skin. “You look fucking gorgeous, baby...absolutely edible.” He groans, moving to place kisses against any part of skin he can reach.

Peter’s wearing lingerie...there’s quite a lot of skin on show.

He whimpers into his lips as Tony kisses him, wet and dirty and oh so delicious. He can taste the lipstick on his and Tony’s lips, and when he pulls back he smirks when he sees smudges of red across the corner of Tony’s mouth.

The older man isn’t the only one who’s possessive.

“I love you.” He can’t help but remind him in between kisses: giving back as good as he’s getting.

“Love you too.” Tony whispers back. “So much.” He moves down his neck. “You are all the best parts of me.” His lips ghost over his clavicles, teasing at the edge of the corset.

“And we aren’t leaving this room,” he continues, his hand moving down to Peter’s exposed thighs, “...until you forget every single one of my exe’s names.” 

Peter lets out a breathless laugh as Tony’s hand starts travelling up the black lace of the stockings, throwing his head back and moaning as it gets closer to where he needs it.

“Sounds good to me.”

***

Their Valentine’s Day celebration became a Valentine’s long-weekend celebration.

And this time, Tony had no problem counting it.

Or re-enacting it.

After all, his baby looks amazing in lingerie.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :-) I don't have Tumblr so this is why it's not part of any collection or the Valentine's Day exchange which inspired it, so hopefully no one will be angry that it stands alone - if there is an issue, please let me know and I will delete it!
> 
> Note: Pauchok means spider in Russian. (I've not used the Cyrillic script which the Russian Alphabet uses, but a kind commentor helped me get the English Alphabet version right!)


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